This is a super serious story, I don't think you realize how serious this is. Do you even understand how serious I was when I wrote this? FUCK YOU! I am SO Fuckign serious rite nao! I am more serious than every serious person on the fucking planet combined! I should take a picture of my serious face and post it!
NO! There's no FUckign timne! This is too much of a big deal! This is too serious!
All was lost, Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived, lay on the ground writhing in agony, his life-long friends Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger lay beside him in similar pain.
Death Eaters stood around them celebrating their recent victory, Hogwarts was ransacked, pillaged in the Dark lord Voldemort's name. Wizarding England was lost, and soon the rest of the Magical world would be as well.
The Death Eaters suddenly hushed, parted and bowed as their Dark lord walked among them, he came to a stop in front of the battered and beaten Harry,
"Harry Potter…." His silver tongue spoke name with an eloquence that would make men and women alike weep in its sinister beauty, an undertone of barely audible loathing carried in the undercurrent of Voldemort's voice. "…You are beaten, you lay before me, a pitiful remnant of what you once were; a foolish and arrogant child who deluded himself into thinking he could defeat the greatest dark wizard since Salazar Slytherin himself."
The Dark lord slowly raised the Elder Wand, held between two long bony and pale fingers delicately. Hermione wept with the knowledge of what was to come, Ron was silent with solemnity as he grieved.
Without warning the Elder Wand flew from Voldemort's grip, shock carved itself on his serpentine face. A Witch, cloaked in black appeared from behind an invisibility cloak, her arm outstretched with the Death-Stick held carefully but strongly within her grasp. The Witch's face was cloaked, and she quickly raised her wand arm, before uttering words that would never be forgotten, a spell that would be both worshipped and feared in the magical world for decades, even centuries to come.
"Fridayum!"
A song so horrific in its malevolent perfection began to play from every direction as it slowly but with the steadiness of the pale rider's infinite patience, raised in volume.
The Death Eaters, and their revered Dark lord himself fell to the ground as one, writhing in an agony that made the Cruciatus curse seem like a lover's caress in comparison. In unison the Dark lord and his servants died, their head detonating in a demented parody of a child's water balloon fight, bone fragments and brutal, savage viscera sprayed as bits of grey matter adorned themselves on the Golden Trio.
Ronald feinted as the stresses got to him, only Hermione and Harry remained awake to ask, "who… Who are you?"
The mysterious witch spoke as she slowly lowered her hood, "I am the forgotten child, the last living heir of the ancient and most noble house of Black, I am…"
The powerful Witch finally lowered her hood; Harry Potter and Hermione's eyes widened impossibly; it was only due to their mundane, or muggle past that they recognized the face of the Witch.
"I am… Rebecca Black."